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This is the story of a quintessentially Canadian hockey tournament held in South Korea — and how its trophy disappeared one night, crossed the Pacific Ocean and ended up in Alaska.

The trophy was eventually returned, but the harrowing journey had taken its toll; the cup, a monument to remaining red-bloodedly Canadian even when far away from home, would never again be the same.

It began with an English professor from Mississauga, some beer and — as with many things in Korea — Americans, one of whom is now at the mercy of Korea’s Supreme Prosecutors’ Office.

In 2000, Andrew Monteith of Mississauga and friends initiated the Imjin River Memorial Cup in Seoul.

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The tournament was meant to honour Canadian soldiers in the Korean War who just had to have hockey on the frontlines. In the winter of 1952, soldiers began playing hockey on the frozen Imjin River using makeshift gear, as artillery fire boomed in the distance. But even in war, hockey is serious business; eventually some proper equipment was found, and the team even enjoyed heated dressing rooms.

In early April, the trophy for Monteith’s memorial tournament — purchased years ago from a Seoul antique store — vanished, apparently plucked while on display at Gecko's Terrace Restaurant and Bar in Seoul. Its disappearance went unnoticed for more than a week.

“This thing’s kind of like my baby,” Monteith told the Star from Korea on Canada Day. “In a way, I was responsible for its being stolen. I was devastated. I was sick.”

Eventually, Monteith got a tip that the trophy had been spotted at another pub, the Wolfhound. Bar operators showed Monteith security footage that he said featured drunk men horsing around with the cup and drinking from it.

After Monteith and his friends posted stills from the video online, someone identified one of the men.

The alleged thief, a United States air force staff sergeant, was then called in to Yongsan Police Station in Seoul for questioning. He denied all involvement.

But in late April, in what was “kind of like a scene from CSI,” Korean police summoned the staff sergeant again and told Monteith: “We want you to talk to him.”

“I must have told him like 20 times that if the trophy makes it back to us, we’ll be more than happy to drop any charges,” Monteith said.

The airman again denied involvement.

“He would never look at me straight in the eyes,” the professor said. “After that meeting … I thought the trophy was gone.

A week later, however, in May, he says the same soldier walked into the police station with his commander, holding the trophy in a cardboard box. It had been shipped back from Alaska.

“I don’t know what they did,” Monteith said of the Korean police. “I’m guessing they really put the pressure on him.”

According to what police told Gecko’s manager, who is the main contact with Korean authorities, Monteith said, another man captured in the video was not stationed in Korea and took the trophy with him when he left.

What remained of the sacred cup left Monteith brokenhearted; the handles were torn off and part of the base was missing. Monteith said it would cost about $300 to fix it.

A U.S. Forces 7th Air Force spokesman said Korean police have handed the case to the Seoul prosecutor's office, which has not yet decided whether or not to indict the airman.

“Right now the Korean authorities are exercising jurisdiction on the case, which means the U.S. Air Force does not plan to take disciplinary action at this time,” he added.

But what happened to the alleged partner-in-crime in Alaska is still a mystery, as is the motive for the theft.

The military did not release the names of the men, and Monteith declined to identify the soldier, saying he wants to check with Korean police to make sure it’s appropriate to do so.

Korean police’s public affairs division directed questions to Yongsan; a representative there did not immediately comment.

HOCKEY NIGHT AT ‘IMJIN GARDENS’

It was 1952, and Canada had committed 26,000 men to defend South Korea from the invading North.

Half a world away but facing the same harsh winter, soldiers stationed near the Imjin River decided to carve out a little slice of home on the frozen waters. They called it “Imjin Gardens,” an homage to the downtown building that then housed the Toronto Maple Leafs.

Half a century later, an English professor from Mississauga bought an old trophy from a Seoul antique store, and the games were reborn among the city’s expatriate community.

The games’ name grew, and its trophy travelled. In 2013, it was flown to Ottawa for a politicians-soldiers match that marked the 60th anniversary of the end of fighting.

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